


how they met

by nightbirdrises



Series: Sinking 'verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is very much lost at his new school, but he meets someone that could possibly help. However, he turns out to be much more than Blaine had bargained for. Maybe too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how they met

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this segment: brief smoking, a tad of exhibitionism
> 
> You can read Sinking in chronological order using [this page](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/sinking), or you can read it in the order of events as I wrote them [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v%3A+sinking/chrono).

_That’s it. I’m lost_ , Blaine thought as he glanced around nervously. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find the entrance to the locker rooms from the football field, and he began to panic — tryouts were starting soon, and he wanted to make a good impression. Somehow, arriving late or not at all on the first day didn’t seem very conducive to that purpose.

He wandered around the outside fence, searching halfheartedly for a sign or something to point him in the right direction. At a loss, he ducked under the bleachers. He didn’t really expect to find anything, but maybe he would get lucky.

"Wow," a voice said, bored, and Blaine jumped in surprise. "I didn’t think you football players could get any dumber, but I’ve been proven wrong. The field is that way."

Blaine looked in the direction of an old, ratty couch — why is that here? — and saw a young woman, most likely a senior, with short blonde hair sporadically dyed bright pink. She wore a tattered tank top with an equally shabby and thin sweater that didn’t match… anything. Blaine eyed her nose ring apprehensively as he tried to explain himself.

"I’m just trying— Do you know where the locker rooms are?"

"Maybe. Are you new?"

"No, I’ve been here for years and I suddenly forgot where everything is," Blaine huffed, annoyed now. The girl was smirking unpleasantly at him, and he had a bad feeling about this entire situation.

"In that case, I’m sure you’ll have an epiphany soon enough. Nice ankles."

Blaine looked down at his pants, the cuffs rolled up and perfectly fine, thank you. He turned around without another word, determined to find the locker rooms himself no matter how long it took, because there was no way he was going to keep listening to her. And then he spotted him.

Leaning against one of the metal support bars, eyes closed and with a cigarette in his mouth, was a boy. He didn’t look like any boy Blaine had ever met, though; he was dressed just as haphazardly as the girl he’d just talked to, except the clothes were clean and obviously had at least some thought put into them. Bright pink streaks followed the upward curve of his apparently gravity-defying coiffed hair, contrasting sharply with the natural chestnut tone. Instead of a nose piercing, he had two silver rings through the cartilage of his left ear — and when he took the cigarette away to puff out a thin tendril of smoke, Blaine could have sworn he saw a single, round tongue piercing glint in the bit of light there was.

He tilted his head back against the bar, and Blaine felt like he couldn’t breathe for a split-second as he took in the boy’s strong jawline and neck, pale skin disappearing beyond his collarbones and under the low-cut shirt he was wearing. He was radiant, even in the dank atmosphere underneath the stadium’s bleachers.

"Excuse me," he said, jogging up to the boy, who didn’t make any move to acknowledge him. "Can I ask you a question? I’m kind of new here."

Still the boy didn’t budge, his eyes closed in an expression of utter relaxation.

"Uh— hello?" Blaine shifted on his feet, the strap of his heavy gear bag starting to dig painfully into his shoulder. The boy remained just as passive as ever. "Hello?"

"He’s deaf, you fucking idiot," the girl’s voice called, icy and sharp, from behind him. She walked up and kicked the metal bar, the vibrations jolting the boy from his lonely trance. Now that they were open, Blaine could see that his eyes were just as interesting as the rest of him — blues and greens and even splashes of gold. At the moment, those eyes were directed at the girl in a glare that made Blaine feel like he should take a step back. "Kurt, idiot. Idiot, Kurt. And I’m Quinn."

"I’m Blaine, actually—"

"And I actually don’t care. Go find your pack or herd or whatever, okay?"

"You—"

"Wait," Kurt said, his voice halting and unsure yet he still managed to be commanding in a way that had Blaine weak at the knees. He opened his mouth again but stopped, a frustrated expression on his face as he turned to Quinn and started signing quickly.

"Slow down, Tiger," she muttered, though she responded in kind, her jaw dropping after a few exchanges. "No! Kurt—  _God_ , you’re impossible. Whatever,” she finished, punctuating the word with another sign. Blaine felt dizzy after the silent conversation; he’d never felt the desire to learn sign language, but now…

"What is it?" Blaine asked, football tryouts the last thing on his mind now. Quinn rolled her eyes as she pointedly ignored Kurt’s smug look.

"Kurt here doesn’t want me to send you away. Apparently I was being ‘rude.’"

"Well, you kind of were—"

"Does it matter? Anyways, I don’t know what he wants from you, exactly." Quinn turned so that she was facing away from Kurt, and added, "Good luck."

Before Blaine could ask, Quinn was stalking away and leaving him alone with Kurt. Kurt, who was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Who was deaf.

"Got a last name?" Kurt asked carefully, lips framing each word as if to make sure it was the right one.

"Uh— I don’t know how to, um." Blaine gestured helplessly, trying to get his point across. Luckily for him, Kurt understood with a curt nod.

"I can lip read."

"Okay. Uh, it’s Anderson. Blaine Anderson."

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt repeated, and Blaine nodded in affirmation. He didn’t mention how hearing his name roll off of Kurt’s tongue with the slightest clicks of his tongue piercing had Blaine feeling positively giddy. He had it, and he had it  _bad_.

Kurt stood up straight and pulled off a small backpack that Blaine hadn’t noticed, opening it to take out a dry-erase board with a marker attached to it by a string.

 _What brings you here?_  Kurt wrote, and Blaine hesitatingly took the board.

 _I’m lost_ , he wrote under Kurt’s neat handwriting, ignoring the raised eyebrow he got in return.  _I’m trying out for the football team, but I can’t find the locker rooms._

Kurt erased the board and added another line.  _I can help you, if you want._

 _Can you tell me something first? You don’t have to answer, I’m just curious._  Kurt looked momentarily surprised, but he nodded.  _Have you been deaf from birth?_

Kurt sighed, and Blaine started to backtrack, opening his mouth to apologize for asking a question that had the potential to be personal. But then Kurt was writing, and Blaine watched.

_Sophomore year. I was helping my dad in the garage — he’s a mechanic. There was an accident. The shop was fine, my dad was fine, and I was fine. Except…_

_I’m so sorry_ , Blaine wrote, biting his lip.  _Do you miss it?_

Kurt actually laughed at that, somewhat harsh and self-deprecating but he smiled all the same. “That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard,” he said out loud, and Blaine glanced at the ground, unwilling to meet Kurt’s gaze after that mishap. But he heard the marker squeaking on the board again, and couldn’t resist looking back up.

_Imagine being an NFL quarterback and then suddenly losing your throwing arm. Would you miss it? I used to sing. I loved music. Now, all that is gone. Does that answer your stupid question?_

Blaine nodded, worried that Kurt would ask him to leave. Kurt did nothing of the sort, however; instead, he took the cigarette out of his mouth and flung it to the ground, stepping on it carelessly with a boot. He brandished the marker again, watching Blaine with a calculating expression before writing something new.

_Do you want me to help you find the locker rooms?_

Blaine had a feeling he would be far too late to make the meeting now, but he agreed all the same. He tried not to think too hard about how glad he was that he would be able to spend a few more minutes with Kurt this way — who’d have thought this was the kind of guy he’d be attracted to? Somehow, attraction seemed too weak a word for it.

_Follow me._

Blaine followed Kurt obediently through the space underneath the bleachers. They came out on the other side and he blinked fervently against the sudden glare of the sun, Kurt rolling his eyes at him. Blaine didn’t ask any questions about where they were going — he assumed he was being led to the locker rooms, and Kurt wasn’t facing him to read his lips anyways. After a while, though, Blaine realized that they weren’t near the football field anymore. They were behind a dirty wall of exposed brick — the back of some dingy restaurant near McKinley.

"I have a stupid question for  _you_  now, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said, his voice stronger despite the slight waver in tone as he turned to face Blaine, who had his back to the wall. “Will you let me kiss you?”

"I—"

"Afraid to let someone like me ruin your pretty innocence?" Kurt hummed then, and Blaine was lost in so many more ways than before now. "Afraid that people will talk? That you’ve gone off the deep end?"

"I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that," Blaine muttered, and Kurt chuckled, crowding into him. Suddenly there was a hand pressed against the wall to the side of his head, and Kurt was closer than ever — Blaine could smell a hint of cigarette smoke on his breath, as well as a trace of something that reminded him of his family vacation to a Hawaiian beach, and it was inexplicably intoxicating. He wondered what his family would think of this boy — not that it was hard to imagine.

Blaine smiled wryly; he hadn’t gone off the edge yet, but he was ready to make his dive. Any potential consequences flew from his brain as he reached for Kurt’s shirt to tug him roughly forward, their mouths colliding in a jumbled clashing of teeth and lips and tongues and piercings that quickly righted itself into something more, something better than Blaine could ever have imagined.

Kurt moaned into his mouth and slotted his thigh between Blaine’s, his lips curling into a smirk as Blaine’s breath hitched. Kurt started to move then, and Blaine couldn’t resist grinding against him as they continued to kiss, dirty and crude; the complete opposite of what he usually fantasized about. He would definitely have some new things to think about in the dead of night after this, though, as a particularly hard roll of Kurt’s hips had him letting loose a low, almost animalistic sound. Kurt must have felt the vibration of it, for he increased the pace.

It was frantic and overwhelming and public—

Public. They were in public, where anyone could simply walk around the corner and see them practically having sex against the wall. Blaine tore himself away from Kurt, pretending not to hear him whine slightly at the loss.

"We can’t do this," Blaine said clearly once Kurt was looking at him, and Kurt’s eyes narrowed.

"Why not?"

"We could be seen, we— Kurt, we just met ten minutes ago." Blaine suddenly regretted everything, regretted being pulled into this so willingly, like an overexcited puppy waiting for his treat. He scoffed, shaking his head.

"So you _are_  afraid.” Blaine started to deny it, but he couldn’t. He was afraid, how couldn’t he be? This wasn’t exactly a liberal place, and the two of them… they couldn’t be compatible. He was a football player, a guy that, he hoped, was a role model for the kids that watched the games. And Kurt was…

Who was Kurt, anyways?

"I get it. Let me know if you change your mind," Kurt said, his irritation vanishing as he winked at Blaine before turning to leave. Blaine stood there against the wall, stunned into silence.

For all he could pretend, Kurt still took his breath away with every nuance of his being. And it terrified him, that was true, but—

No buts. Blaine couldn’t get involved with someone like him, not when he was just building up his reputation at McKinley. He would have to forget about the mysterious boy whose tongue piercing seemed to have left a metallic imprint on Blaine’s tongue, the clack of it against his teeth still rattling in his core.

It would be difficult to forget, but he had to try. It wouldn’t be worth it to lose everything for one boy, even if that boy was Kurt. So Blaine didn’t chase him down, didn’t confess his feelings or anything of the sort he’d seen in movies.

He walked to the bus stop to catch a ride home instead, and began the grueling process of forgetting.


End file.
